


P is for Pronouns

by residentdogenthusiast



Series: A-Z Prompts for the Hamilsquad [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bigotry, Bisexual Thomas Jefferson, Crossdressing!Lafayette, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Misgendering, Trans James Madison, Transphobia, Use Of The T Word, Written by a Cisperson, trans!James Madison, transmale character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 23:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/residentdogenthusiast/pseuds/residentdogenthusiast
Summary: “Well, that’s simple. I’m James Madison. I’m a boy, and my pronouns are ‘he’ and ‘him’. And I deserve the respect any cis person would get.” (PLEASE READ BEGINNING & END NOTES)





	P is for Pronouns

**Author's Note:**

> This is (albeit, late) for Coming Out Day. Your pronouns are yours, and if the people around you can’t accept them, then find new people that can. You are loved. You are important. And your gender is valid.

From the very second he was brought into the world as JamieLynn Madison on March 16th of 1995, James knew that wasn’t who he was. Even when he was extremely young, he sensed it. Barely three years old and already attempting to rip off the stuffy Sunday school dresses his mother insisted on zipping him up into whilst longingly looking towards his brothers that got to wear the comfortable suits… he knew that he wasn’t a _Jamie_. He wasn’t a _girl_. He couldn’t possibly be, everything ‘girly’ that his conservative parents forced onto him felt too _wrong._ Dolls were discarded for dumptrucks, dresses tossed aside for his older brothers’ jeans and dress slacks. He had even attempted several times to cut his hair, before his mother had finally relented and allowed him to keep it short.

For as long as he could remember, there was something about that name—he called it ‘The Name Which Shall Not Be Named’ in private—that made him inwardly recoil. He shied away from it, preferring people call him ‘Jemmy’, as it felt easier on his ears. He would much prefer James, but it was a nice compromise. ‘Jemmy’ didn’t scrape at his eardrums like nails on chalkboard like ‘Jamie’ did, and it didn’t make him flinch as horribly.

Eventually, James grew tired of repressing who he believed he truly was. But when he first attempted to come out to his parents at the age of eight, he knew he had made a big mistake.

To be fair, he hadn’t said anything particularly damaging. He’d been far too young to know what being ‘transgender’ was so he hadn’t used that terminology, and he definitely hadn’t known that he’d liked boys at the time. He'd been simple and honest with words, so he hadn't understood his father's reaction. “Mom, Dad? I have to tell you something. I don’t like being given girls’ clothes, and I don’t like wearing the headbands, and I don’t like being called Jamie. Can you call me James like Daddy and let me be like Reuben and Francis and William? I like playing like them!”

Still. No matter how gentle and innocent his words were, it became painfully obvious his father had not liked what he’d heard. James Madison, Sr.’s  face got all pinched up, like he’d smelled something awful and was trying to hold his breath so he didn’t breathe it in again. The older man’s fists clenched, and his obsidian colored eyes narrowed on his ‘daughter’. The spoon he’d been using to eat his cereal even bended in his grip. Instinctively, in an effort to protect himself from any damage his father might inflict—Mr. Madison wasn’t known for being overly kind to his children, after all—, James had taken several steps back. Away from the fury that began to roll off his Dad in waves.

His mother had caught him gently, soft hands wrapping around his upper arm and pulling him into her lap. James had snuggled into his mother’s embrace, relieved that _someone_ understood. That someone would fight for him. He’d been about to open his mouth to thank her when his mother’s sweet southern voice had drawled said,

“Oh honey, you’re just a tomboy, s’all.” Her words vibrated through James and not in a reassuring sort of way. They made tears prick in his eyes and fury boil his blood. He may have been young, but he knew he wasn’t just a tomboy. He could feel it. This was beyond a phase, this was beyond just liking to play in dirt.

This was something he felt day in and out, something that nagged at him during every waking moment and appeared in his dreams during every sleeping one. This wasn’t something he could grow out of, and he knew it.

However, James had climbed from his mother’s lap, given both his parents a kiss on their cheeks and flounced off. Just like the good _girl_ they wanted him to be, the good _girl_ that he knew he _wasn’t_. He’d locked himself in his room and forced himself to find the enjoyment in playing with barbies all day, not once looking out his window to where he could hear his brothers roughhousing outside. He told himself that he could be —no, that he _would_ be a star child. That he’d be good. That he could fit the mold. He had simply vowed to suppress his emotions.

And he did.

All throughout middle school, James did exactly that. His best friend, Thomas Jefferson, the only other person he confided how he felt to, helped make doing that a little easier on him. Thomas, who introduced himself to James’ parents as his boyfriend so that they’d get off his back on finding a good boyfriend—and future husband. Thomas, who on the night of the eighth grade graduation dance, brought along an extra suit and dress shoes for James to dance in all night long instead of forcing him to stay in the itchy, sparkly dress. Thomas, who beat up the school bully the first time James wore boy clothes to school and was called a ‘tr*nny’.

Yes. Thomas made things a little easier on James in their middle school years, and James was forever indebted to him because of it. He hadn’t known why the older boy was so kind on him—he knew of Thomas’ bisexuality, but that didn’t explain why the boy had chosen to help James instead of dismissing him as a tomboy like everyone else did—but for whatever the reason was, he was grateful.

Eventually, with Thomas helping him change in the mornings when he got off the school bus and in the afternoons right before he got back on the bus to go home, James found himself feeling… well, more _himself_. The hand-me-down boy clothes that Thomas let him borrow allowed him to present himself to the world how he wanted to be presented, and Thomas —privately—calling him James instead of ‘Jamie’ boosted his self-confidence. But there had been something missing. There’d been something that the illusion wasn’t complete without. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Sophomore year of high school was where things took a turn for the better for him and his identity, and where he finally figured out what it was that was messing. Thomas had a cousin coming moving into town from France, and he’d been excited to introduce the two because the cousin crossdressed frequently. Thomas, for all he’d been helpful, knew the cousin would be a _much better_ help to James than he was. Conveniently, James was fluent in the language —he’d been forced to take and learn French by his best friend, seeing as the other male saw it as the world’s greatest language—and was excited to put his hard studies to work somewhere useful.

The night after Gilbert’s welcome party—which had been more of a rager than a simple welcome party—, James sat in the basement of the Jefferson manor, fingers idly playing with the neck of the beer he was holding. He kept fidgeting with his bra that dug too deep into his flesh, wincing at how the item of clothing made him so uncomfortable, and squirming at all the times that night he’d been called ‘Jamie’ instead of James.

_“What’s wrong? Why are you fidgeting so?”_ the young Frenchman had finally asked in their native tongue, head tilted slightly to the side. James can’t help but admire his strength. The boy, too had come from homophobic origins. It was the whole reason he was in America. Still, he was unafraid. Instead of following a status quo and accepting all that money he was set to inherit, he’d allowed his family to ship him off to a whole other country where he didn’t even know it’s _language_.

And god, was he gorgeous, too.

His face was brilliantly painted with smokey eye makeup and shiny lips covered in a layer of lipgloss. He wore clothes so tight and revealing that it caused James to blush when he first saw him. Heeled boots with heels so high, James could only imagine himself tumbling in them. Warm wool leggings, and a short denim skirt and a mesh top beneath an oversized leather jacket—he suspects the leather jacket belongs to the over-protective Thomas. To top it all off, a shimmery black choker.

James had wondered how he did it. Sitting there staring at the other boy, he could point out at least two articles of clothing he’d owned himself. So how did the other boy look and seemingly feel so comfortable in them when all he felt when he wore them was… constricted, suffocated… _invisible_.

_“... It’s nothing,”_ he’d responded awkwardly, when he realized the young man was still waiting for his answer. Lafayette had snorted and scooted closer, bringing the flute of champagne up to his lips.

_“Please, I know it’s something. Talk to me, girl.”_

_“My bras… they all hurt. And I… I don’t like being called that,”_ James finally admitted, shuffling awkwardly in his seat and once again, pulling at the underwire on his bra. He figured that if this boy could dress like that, he certainly wouldn’t lash out against him, would he? Call him a tr*nny and spit in his face like all the other boys and girls at school did. _“I'm a boy.”_

_“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were trans! Your pronouns… they are he and his, yes?”_ Lafayette had asked, immediate guilt settling in on his features as he’d laid a hand on the other boy's arm. James had smiled softly—no one had ever backtracked like that before when he’d attempted correcting them, it was nice—, but had given him a confused look.

_“M-my what?”_

_“Your pronouns. The words people use to address you beside your name,”_ Lafayette had said slowly, afraid that they were talking too quickly in their French for the other boy to understand after James had blinked at him in confusion for several long moments. At the Frenchman’s explanation, James had laughed lightly, but had also gone back to awkwardly fiddling with the bottle of beer in his hand.

_“No… I know what pronouns are but…”_

_“You’ve never had this conversation with yourself? Well, that explains why no one respects them —you haven’t established them! Let’s have the talk together, my friend. I’ll go first. I am Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette. My pronouns are he and his, but I don’t mind their and theirs. Sexually, I like feminization so she and hers are also acceptable, but only with a sexual or romantic partner. What about you?” _

After managing to get over his shock at just how open Lafayette was with and about himself—and also swallow away his blush at the idea of someone calling Lafayette feminine names sexually—James had managed to choke out, _“I… I’m Jamie.”_

_“Isn’t that your dead name?”_ Lafayette had asked, this time the confusion on their face. It was comical —this boy that seemed to have such a strong, informed grip on the world confused at something that _James_ had said. James had raised his eyebrow, and the two sat there for a few moments—both equally lost with each other.

_“My what?”_

_“Your dead name,”_ the other boy had repeated, this time a little quieter. James had scooted in closer to hear his voice, their knees lightly brushing against each other’s. _“The name that you were born with, but that you killed off because it's not the name you feel comfortable with.”_

_“Oh. Then yes, I guess so,”_ James had, for once, pushed aside his hesitance and nodded firmly. _“Yes, then my name is James. And my pronouns are… she and hers?”_

_“No, your pronouns aren’t what you’re called by everyone else. They’re what you feel. In here,”_ Lafayette had lightly jabbed the cloth of James’ sweater above his heart, and he’d chuckled again. If only because the shock he felt couldn't properly convey that he was holding onto Lafayette's every word. _“What are your pronouns, not the ones that were given to you?”_

_“He and his. My name is James Madison, I’m a boy, and my pronouns are he and his,”_ James had stated, shocked at the new wave of confidence and excitement that the words. He’d laughed once more, unsure if the beer or his new official identity was making him feel as airy and light as he did.

_“Louder,”_ Lafayette had encouraged, eyes also twinkling with mirth. _“Say it louder, for everyone who’s ever misgendered you!”_

_“My name is James Madison, I’m a boy, and my pronouns are he and his!”_ James had announced, with even more confidence than before. It seemed to be growing in his belly with every word he spoke, something that he’d lacked for years in this body that he didn’t want.

_“I can’t hear you!”_ Lafayette had shouted between giggles, rising to wobbly feet and pulling James up with him. They’d stood their facing each other, both of them smiling, as James had shouted at the top of his lungs,

“My name is James Madison, I’m a boy, and my pronouns are he and his!” James had said it that last time in English, fat tears rolling over his cheeks as he clutched the other boys arms for dear life. To say it aloud in French was one thing--the only people remaining in the house after the house party hardly spoke the language. But to say it aloud in English… to shout it in a language that people understood all throughout their small town. That was an accomplishment. That was him shedding the skin of JamieLynn Madison and stepping into the skin of James Madison. The boy he’d always wanted to be.

_“Good! Tomorrow, Thomas and I go into town and we get you some binders. Proper ones, understood? And a new wardrobe. No more of this… shit,”_ Lafayette had said, wrinkling their nose at the flowy dress they’d put on before leaving the house for the party. The other boy had lifted the fabric up and let it fall down over James’ thighs with an annoyed snort. What with accepting and fully discovering his new identity, James had nearly forgotten about how uncomfortable he felt wearing girl’s clothes.

Nearly, not quite.

In the months following, James had been slow about coming out—but sure about it. It had taken more than some time, but eventually a time came where only his father didn’t know who he truly was. He’d started at school, knowing that it’d be easier to correct strangers than his own blood family. It had started out small—wearing more and more boy clothes to school, or using the boys bathroom instead of the girls. Then it became correcting people whenever they used ‘she’ or ‘her’ or ‘Jamie’ to address him, and changing his ID to get his deadname taken off. Eventually, though it took some getting used to, the most of the student body began addressing him properly. The few that didn't answered to a furious Thomas or Lafayette.

He’d like to be to have said that the confidence was given to him by the French blessing in disguise, but Lafayette had only helped him truly unearth who he was that night. Lafayette had only given him the words to describe what he was, had only provided the labels. _Trans. Male. Male Pronouns._ **_James_** _._

No, the newfound confidence had been inside of him all along. He’d just had to dig a bit to unearth it.

He continued on with friends—most of which were mutual friends with him and Thomas anyways, and had already known anyways due to the fact Thomas Jefferson couldn’t keep a secret even if he tried. They all supported him far more than the general student body had—which was saying a lot, because most of the students of their school had eventually gotten it into their transphobic skulls who he was. Alexander Hamilton even threw him a ‘Gender Reveal’ party complete with ‘Its A Boy!’ balloons and blue cake. And though, Lafayette had teased the other boy for his heteronormative choice in colors, James had loved it.

Lastly to learn was his family, simply as they would be the biggest obstacle in his coming out. Namely, his parents. His siblings didn’t seem to care either way—though for awhile, they slipped up with calling him ‘Jamie’ or addressing him as ‘her’. However, they didn’t purposefully misgender him, and eventually they managed to get a grip on his new identity. His little sister, Elizabeth, had been especially elated to take all of his old dolls and girl things that he would no longer need. His siblings, though, weren’t the issue. Though they, like him, had grown up in a trans and homophobic community, they were extremely open-minded. James hadn’t for a moment doubted that they would still accept and love him for who he was.

No, it was his parents that would become his biggest hurdle.

He’d told his mother first, who’d hugged him and cried afterwards. He knew she wasn’t, nor would she ever be okay with his identity, but he also knew she loved him more than she loved having another daughter. So, even though Eleanor Madison was significantly crushed when he came out to her as boy, she seemed to get over the qualms she had. Of course, only after pressing him for several weeks afterwards to be sure that this wasn’t some ‘phase’. Eventually, though, she accepted him—helped him move all of his girl possessions into Elizabeth’s room, paid for some new clothes that he would actually feel comfortable in, and even took him down to the appropriate offices to get the name on all his important paperwork changed to James.

He knew his mother didn’t like it, but she supported him and that was all he wanted. Her support.

His father… less so.

Standing outside of the door to his father’s office, James had looked to his friends with nervousness in his chocolate colored eyes. Lafayette, Thomas and their other friend, Aaron Burr, had joined him at his home to provide emotional support for him coming out to his Dad—per his mother’s request, who would be absent at a Doctor’s appointment with his little sister when James planned to do this. It had been seven months since that tipsy night in the wine cellar of Thomas’ mansion, and _so much_ had changed since then. Despite living for seven months as a boy everywhere but the home he shared with father, James felt less sure of himself than he had that night. He wished he could conjure up the confidence he’d had before, but it evaded him.

“I can’t do this,” James had said, turning on his heel to walk away from the office. He’d been stopped by Burr—who’d come to care for the younger man in the five months they’d known each other—and turned back around to face the mahogany wood of his father’s door.

“You can. You’ve been building up to this moment for _months_. You’ve worked so hard to not only come out, but embrace who you are. Stop being so afraid to live your truth, James Madison, and tell your father what you _feel_. You know that if he does anything as drastic as kick you out, you’ll have a home with my family or at Lafayette’s apartment,” Thomas had pitched in, after Aaron had steadied him to prevent him from walking away.  “Go on, Jemmy. We’ll be right out here for you.”

Taking a deep breath, James had nodded and pushed open the door. He thought of all the things that could go wrong—entering his father’s office dressed like he was. He had ditched the floral print dress and leggings that his father had seen him in at breakfast that morning for a pair of baggy black jeans, a simple blue t-shirt and Thomas’ oversized Letterman's. It was some of the more toned down of his male clothing—he hadn’t wanted to completely infuriate his father. However, his stomach flipped at the way his father looked at him over the rim of his glasses.

“Jamie? What do you want?” the man had asked, warning in his voice. _Don’t do this, sweetie,_ James Madison Sr.’s voice had said without the actual words passing his lips. _Don’t test me._ James had swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat and straightened his back. He would _not_ be deterred.

“Dad,” James had said quietly, taking a hesitant step forward. Immediately, his hand had shot to the necklace around his neck—a necklace in the shape of a broken half of a heart that had the word ‘best’ on it. He knew as long as Thomas had the other half that said ‘friend’, he’d have the strength and confidence to say whatever needs saying. His voice was louder and firmer when it came out the second time.  “Dad, my name isn’t Jamie anymore. It never has been, actually. It’s the name you gave me, and I wish I could love it, but that’s not who I am. My name is James Madison, Jr. My pronouns are he and his. I am a boy, Dad, and I always have been. I… I didn’t come here for your permission, either, Dad. I came here for your acceptance. I love you, and I wouldn’t intentionally do anything to harm you or your political establishment. But if I continue on living as Jamie and not James, I am afraid of what I might do to myself. I’m happy this way, and I like being happy.”

He’d said all of this in one swift breath, eyes fluttering closed and breath hitching immediately after to brace for the inevitable impact. His father was known around _town_ for how physical he could get with the Madison kids. Well, moreso with the Madison boys, but still. It wasn’t like the girls completely evaded their father’s wrath when they did something bad, and James knew his father was going to hit him. Whether he was a Madison boy or girl, the man would bring his fists hailing down like a fury no man hath ever seen.

However, nothing came. He waited for several long, missed beats before he’d dared to open his eyes. And he had not been greeted with the image of his father rising to strike him, but something that a million punches couldn’t compare to the pain of. He’d been greeted by a look he’d never seen on his father’s face before. At least, never directed at _him_. Hatred. Absolute _loathing_. And moreover — _disappointment_.

The disappointment hurt more than any hatred could ever, and James’ father knew that.

“I don’t know who let this stranger in my house,” the man had said, eyes narrowed on his child and voice so cold that goosebumps prickled on James’ skin. “but I will certainly be having a word with them about stranger danger. Please, leave.”

“Dad… dad, don’t _do_ this! I want you in my life! _Please_ , don’t do this!” James had exclaimed, pleading making his voice crack on certain words. Realization of what was happening was hitting him like a freight train—knocking all the gusto and air from his lungs, sending him careening. He’d taken a step forward, only to be forced to cower by the bass in his father’s voice as he bellowed,

“I said _go_!” James had flinched and scrambled out of the office like a kicked puppy, hot tears burning tracks into his cheeks as he’d rushed into the waiting arms of his friends.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! You should’ve known a tranny like yourself would never be accepted by him! You’re so useless and stupid! God, I wish you’d just die!_ He’d mentally shouted at himself as he felt his best friend’s strong arms wrap around his shoulders. It was all he could think of in those moments —to insult _himself_. To blame _himself_. It was all that had made _sense_. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid tranny!_

He could smell Thomas’ cologne on his clothes, could barely make out the feeling of his feet propelling him out of the front door of his childhood home and his best friend holding him close to his side. But James was far too lost in his own self-hatred to focus on too much else. Only a handful of words stood out against the too-loud sounds of his sobbing and self-loathing, and they passed from Thomas’ lips. To this day, James would never forget the words,

“You don’t need them anyways, James. You got us. _We’ll_ be your family.”

And they had been. From that day forth, James had always relied on them when he needed something. When he needed a home that night? Lafayette had opened the doors of his apartment to him, offering him the guest room with a sad smile and warm eyes. When he’d needed clothes for the new school week? Aaron had volunteered immediately—jumping up at the chance to give Mr. Madison a piece of his mind and retrieve the clothes they’d a;; collectively bought for the boy. And when he’d just needed a shoulder to cry on, or a friend to turn to, Thomas had been there. Thomas, with his sweet smile and his soft, gentle eyes. Thomas with his big, kind heart and the fierce why he defended James’ honor to anyone who dares question it. Thomas, with his messy mane of hair and those soft lips…

James still got giddy when he thought of how Thomas had gone from ‘best friend’ to ‘boyfriend’.

The family had been small at the start, cozy. But as time went on, and James’ confidence in his friend-making skills grew, it became much larger than the young boy had known what to do with. First came Hercules Mulligan, all protectiveness and warm knitted scarves for the colds that James was prone to. And John Laurens, who seemed to have the best home remedies for any and everything that happened to ail James. Followed by Alexander, who introduced him to people that may know his struggle a little better than his cis friends. Peggy Schuyler—who was non-binary and an entire unsolved enigma that had a knack for cheering up James on his worst days—and Elizabeth Sanders—who was a transgirl that happened to know the best places for healthy, safe binders. And of course, Maria Reynolds who helped him find a good doctor for his testosterone prescriptions. Eventually, Lafayette’s sister, Adrienne moved to the America’s and she was instantly liked by the young man. Laf began seeing a kind man by the name of George who was always there for good advice, and Peggy dragged her sisters along with them everywhere. Angelica, who knocked down anyone who dared misgender James, and Eliza who baked him cookies and showed him pictures of kittens on his bad days.

Before James knew it, he had more family than he could ever know what to do with. A family that was as big as it was proud, a family full of so many diverse ideals and personalities, a family that was far more loving than his father could ever aspire to be. A family that would respect his pronouns and his name, a family that would respect who he was.

And who was he?

“Well, that’s simple. I’m James Madison. I’m a boy, and my pronouns are ‘he’ and ‘him’. And I am valid.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I wrote or said anything to offend the trans community, please, please, please let me know. Speak up. As a cisperson, I don’t know what you all suffer and thus I can only sympathize, not empathize. I also don’t want to speak over your voices as an oppressed people, so please feel free to speak over mine. Let me know if I fucked up, and I will do everything possible to correct it. Thank you :)


End file.
